


Breathless

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: Blindspot (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Dirty Thoughts, F/F, I really don't mean to beat this guy into the ground it just HAPPENS, Jane is mindlessly vindictive, Lesbian Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Public Sex, Secret Relationship, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Fantasy, Smut, Tasha is pervy, This is how I like my ship, Vaginal Fingering, Voyeurism, side note: poor Kurt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-19 20:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19363975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: If Kurt had been all her good intentions, Tasha was all her bad.





	Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> Just some more Jane/Tash porn, since I can’t get them off my mind and there are not nearly enough fics for them.

 

Everything had changed in the four months since Jane had brought Tasha home that drunken night, and yet nothing had changed. Jane was still working with the team—she’d decided being able to be around Tasha was worth having to be around Kurt—and none of them, apart from the woman in question, was any the wiser of what she chose to do with her free time.

 

She spent most nights with Tasha, if not at either of their apartments, then out for dinner in any number of holes-in-wall or melting together into the background of darkened bars. They went to gay bars mostly, and they didn’t care who saw them, because they knew none of it would ever get back to the team, especially not now that Jane had gotten rid of her detail. They were free to dance and flirt and kiss and grope in public, easily shielded by all the other women doing the same thing all around them. It was freeing—almost intoxicatingly so.

 

Still, Jane was cautious and thoughtful when she needed to be. From her experiences with Kurt, she knew news of an intradepartmental relationship had to be broken very carefully. Thankfully Tasha understood that.

 

Jane had been worried, when she’d broached the topic of keeping their relationship quiet, that Tasha might storm off as she had before. Tasha didn’t care to be a rebound, or a meaningless lay, as she’d made clear, and so Jane reasoned she might not like to be hidden, either. But to Jane’s surprise, Tasha seemed to latch on to the idea when Jane proposed it, agreeing with a mischievous smile.

 

_I’ll be your dirty little secret,_ Tasha had whispered, kissing her. _So long as you stay mine._

 

Jane’s heart had lurched—did she really mean that?—but she hadn’t dared ask. They’d fallen into bed again as they had so many times before: by refusing to acknowledge, let alone discuss, whatever personal feelings might accompany the sex.

 

Other feelings, of course, were discussed in great detail.

 

Tasha’s favorite pastime, when they had days off or long weekends, was to get Jane drunk and embarrass her with an endless sexual questionnaire. Given how regularly crass Tasha was when they were together, Jane had somewhat suspected that this embarrassment of hers would wane with time, diminishing due to overexposure.

 

On the contrary, and to Tasha’s delight, it seemed to only increase. 

 

“Just tell me one,” Tasha had implored her the other month, as they were getting sloshed on wine and lying, tangled up, on Jane’s couch. “Just one teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy fantasy. That’s all I’m asking for.”

 

“I’m not telling you _anything_ ,” Jane had replied, drunkenly overloud, swallowing more wine as if that might somehow hide her burning cheeks.

 

“Come on,” Tasha prodded, kicking her with one foot. “Fair’s fair. I told you one of mine, so now you have to tell me one of yours.”

 

“You’ve told me _a hundred_ of yours!”

 

“Well then,” Tasha grinned, now sliding her foot slowly up Jane’s inner thigh, “maybe you should share a hundred of yours.”

 

“I don’t have a hundred,” Jane muttered, shoving Tasha’s foot away. “I don’t…” She broke off with a sigh, looking away in embarrassment. Was it really possible that she was as deficient in this arena of normal life as she was in so many others? “God, I probably don’t even have two.”

 

“I’m _sure_ you have at least two,” Tasha replied softly, and her voice was quiet now, encouraging. Even through her inebriation, Jane was awed at the way Tasha could manipulate a person—especially a _knowing_ person. Just that sweet voice, telling her she was capable, made her want to spill her guts.

 

Tasha set aside her wineglass, and Jane watched as she moved forward, on her knees now, to hover over her.

 

“Come on,” Tasha whispered, bending down to kiss Jane gently. “I’m not asking for much. All I want is for you to open up a little. Stop being so worried about what I might think, and just say it. One fantasy, that’s all. Just give me one, baby.”

 

Jane closed her eyes. Tasha had started doing that recently, calling her _baby_. Jane didn’t know what it meant—maybe it meant nothing at all—but she couldn’t stop her stomach from fluttering when Tasha said it. It just felt so _intimate_.

 

Jane took in a deep breath, trying to marshal herself.

 

“Okay,” she whispered finally, opening her eyes. “I’ll tell you one.”

 

Tasha grinned, kissing her again in thanks. “Good girl,” she whispered, and Jane felt a chill of excitement run down her spine.

 

“Sometimes,” Jane had whispered, shamefaced and yet thrilled to be saying it aloud, “I think about us together at work. I think about you… fucking me where everyone can see.”

 

A slow smile curled its way up the edge of Tasha’s mouth. “Do you now?” she whispered, leaning close.

 

“Mmhm.” Jane closed her eyes. It was easier to talk about this with her eyes closed. It was, after all, the way she’d gotten around to imagining it in the first place. “I think about us in the locker room together, going at it while everyone else is just on the other side of the lockers…”

 

“How else do you imagine it will happen?” Tasha murmurs, her voice all honey, thick and sweet. “Maybe you think about me fucking you in interrogation, and all of them watching from the other side of the wall?”

 

“Oh, fuck,” Jane whimpered. She _hadn’t_ thought of that, and now that Tasha had mentioned it, she could hardly breathe.

 

“Or maybe I’m under your desk,” Tasha continued, “my fingers between your legs, my mouth on your pussy.”

 

Jane groaned. She’d definitely thought of that one.

 

“Does that get you hot, baby? Are you going to think about this tomorrow, when I’m across the room from you? I know I’ll be thinking about it. But I’ll be dreaming of _you_ kneeling for _me_.”

 

“I like that too,” Jane whispered. She opened her eyes, met Tasha’s gaze. “I’d do it for you,” she confessed.

 

Tasha smiled, almost dotingly, and kissed her again. “Thanks,” she murmured.

 

They didn’t discuss it any more that night, and Jane was torn between being grateful and disappointed. As much as it embarrassed her, talking about these things out loud, Tasha’s reactions never failed to arouse her. This fantasy in particular, she knew, was a product of her own mandate that they keep their relationship a secret from the team. She had shared with Tasha the part that excited her, and silently kept back everything that frightened her. She knew things would change if and when she and Tasha ever came out as a couple. And maybe that was part of why she wanted it all to remain hidden—because if it was all out in the open, maybe none of it would feel as good as it did now—the excitement, the fear, the novelty of it all. _Maybe_ , she thought to herself only when she was alone, _none of this will feel as good once everyone knows about it_.

 

The thought scared her, and so she never shared it with Tasha, and hardly ever let herself think it consciously. Instead she threw herself head-first into whatever this mess was with Tasha, and she let herself ignore everything else. Or at least, she tried to, until Thanksgiving came around and Kurt made his usual holiday announcement.

 

She stared at him dumbfounded, having assumed that since they’d broken up, he wouldn’t be bothering with the regular holiday dinners for the team. It would be too awkward, too uncomfortable, too reminiscent of all the years of dinners they’d shared when she’d lived with him. But instead here he was, inviting all of them over for Thanksgiving dinner. Including her.

 

As soon as the team broke apart and he headed back to his office, Jane got up to follow him. The others were watching, she knew. They were all thinking the same thing she was, and that was the only thing that kept her from being embarrassed at the furtive stares. She had to do this for all of them. The moment they were alone in his office, with the door shut, she demanded to know why he’d kept up the charade that everything was still the same between them when so obviously nothing was.

 

_It’s tradition,_ he replied shortly, pretending to focus on a file so he didn’t have to look her in the eye. _If you don’t want to come, fine. But I’m not going to be the asshole who invites everyone except his ex._

 

Though she wanted to argue, there really was no polite way to say _I don’t want to be near you_ , and so she shut her mouth. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t said more and worse before, and besides, he was clearly making an effort to be polite. Perhaps—after all this time—they might finally be able to be civil to one another. 

 

And so the next Thursday she forced herself to prepare a small side dish, put on a nice outfit, and head over to his apartment. She hadn’t been there since she’d moved out nearly a year ago. The place was familiar—perhaps it always would be—but she couldn’t help but notice how empty it seemed. She could tell Kurt had taken pains to fill some of the vacant spots left by her possessions, but it all felt half-done, as if he was just waiting for someone else to come in and swap out his placeholders with the real thing.

 

Perhaps he was.

 

Too preoccupied with her own love life, Jane hadn’t bothered to waste time worrying about his in months, and she realized now, as she wandered around the apartment in which she used to live, that she had absolutely no idea what his personal life was like anymore. Was he dating someone? Sleeping around? He didn’t seem the type, but then again, she had thrown a rather large and unexpected wrench into his life plans. She herself had overcorrected where sex was concerned; maybe he had too.

 

They sat down to dinner just like they used to, though this time Jane sat as far from Kurt as possible, and it wasn’t because decorum dictated it. She took a seat at the corner of the table farthest from him, leaving the head opposite him empty, trying not to remember when that had been her default seat at such get-togethers. No one seemed to notice; with Sarah and Sawyer out of town for the holiday, seating was more spacious than usual. Tasha, blessedly, had decided to sit on Jane’s right, and so she was the buffer between her and Kurt. Patterson and Reade sat on the other side. After Kurt did his usual thanks-filled toast, Jane didn’t hesitate to swallow half of her wine in one gulp. The evening had only just begun, and yet it was already crawling.

 

But it sped up alarmingly so when she felt a hand slide up her leg. She almost jumped out of her chair, her head immediately snapping to the side, but Tasha wasn’t even looking at her. Instead she was drinking out of her wineglass, her eye wandering around Kurt’s apartment as if she didn’t currently have her hand under his ex-girlfriend’s skirt.

 

Jane was speechless with outrage—and with awe. The sheer audacity was something to behold, and it turned her on. Jane had to close her eyes to keep ahold of herself as Tasha’s hand inched further up Jane’s skirt, between her legs. Patterson, Reade, and Kurt were all arguing happily about something mere feet away, but they might as well be miles apart.

 

“Stop,” she whispered harshly under her breath. She was hardly able to hear herself over the sound of her own heart pounding. “Don’t.”

 

“Shh,” Tasha whispered back, her thumb stroking the soft skin of Jane’s inner thigh as she turned her head towards Jane. No one could read her lips as she whispered in Jane’s ear, “I know you want it.”

 

Jane almost groaned aloud. She _did_ want it, that was the worst part about all of this. She’d brought it on herself with that stupid confession the other month.

 

Jane knew she was supposed to snap her legs shut—any sensible person would—but instead she found hers falling open, and as if in complete surrender, her mind remembered the words she’d confessed to Tasha all those weeks ago: _I fantasize about you making me come in public._

 

It was humiliating and thrilling that Tasha, without having to be told, had intuited what Jane had left unsaid: _I fantasize about him seeing._

 

Jane didn’t know where this vindictive side of herself had come from. Truly, she didn’t. Kurt hadn’t done her any wrongs. He hadn’t mistreated her, or cheated on her, or done anything at all bad to her. He’d just loved her more than she’d loved him, and how was that his fault? It wasn’t, and yet she’d somehow found a way to hate him for it. Hate him for the fact that he was certain about his life, certain about his heart, certain about _them_.

 

She’d never felt certain, not even when they’d been happy together, and that uncertainty had morphed into fear, then anger, then jealousy. She was more jealous than she knew how to say, that he’d felt such faith in their relationship when she’d felt so lost. He’d been prepared to spend a lifetime with her and she—well, she hadn’t even begun to know how to prepare for something like that. And so she’d left, tossing away her chance for stability, perhaps for the rest of her life.

 

And now, not even a year later, here she was, sitting in his apartment, at his dining table, not ten feet from him while her secret girlfriend fingered her beneath the tablecloth.

 

That mere thought alone almost made Jane come.

 

Maybe stability wasn’t all it was cracked up to be, she thought to herself, feeling her face heat and trying very hard not to let her eyes fall closed in pleasure. She had to bite down on her tongue so she wouldn’t moan when Tasha slipped a second finger inside of her. It was rather difficult—she was so used to letting Tasha hear her every noise in bed that it was hard to train herself to stay silent now. But if she betrayed a sound, they’d be caught. Right here, right now, at what was supposed to be a civil holiday dinner.

 

Jane squeezed her eyes shut, heart pounding at the thought. She didn’t know if she was more scared or thrilled. And with Tasha, did it even matter? She liked to tie those two things together, to blend them. But even this was a huge step up from their experiments in the bedroom. This could have serious consequences.

 

Serious consequences like—what? She knew they were work-related, official warnings, maybe even a demotion or a firing—but suddenly all her mind could picture were filthy porn plots, with her ex-boyfriend and coworkers in starring roles, dishing out bruising spankings and seismic orgasms in equal measure. Kurt had never touched her like that, not once, but God, she bet his hand would leave marks. After all, Tasha's had.

 

“Having hot flashes?” a voice teased, too loud to be just in her ear.

 

Jane managed to open her eyes, catching Tasha glancing at her cheeks with a mischievous smirk, still working her fingers hard and fast between Jane’s legs.

 

“Don’t tell me you’re turning menopausal already, Doe. Surely you have a few years left?”

 

Jane nearly choked. How was it possible that Tasha could carry on a conversation as usual at a time like this? She tightened her grip on Tasha’s wrist, digging her nails in, but the woman didn’t let up. Jane almost didn’t want her to. She was so close now. If she didn’t get a release now, she might very well die at this table.

 

“I’m—fine,” she managed to grit out. Her face was flaming, she knew. It did that whenever she got extremely embarrassed or extremely aroused. Kurt used to tease her about it, the closest he ever came to dirty talk.

 

“You do look a little pink,” Patterson pointed out, concerned and thoughtful as usual as she cut into her turkey. “Are you feeling feverish?”

 

Jane shook her head. She couldn’t focus. Tasha was pushing her too hard, but she was scared to break, scared that the others would see it happen. And yet wanting it all _so badly_.

 

“It’s n—nothing,” she stuttered, her dry mouth fumbling over the words. She wish she could reach for her wine, but she didn’t trust her hand not to shake. One hand was still gripping Tasha’s wrist hard—encouraging now, instead of censuring. The other was white-knuckling the bottom of the chair. She was so fucking close. It was getting harder and harder to keep her breaths normal. She coughed, trying to hide herself, or distract the others, she didn’t know, but that served only to make her choke on her own breath.

 

“You need water or something?” Kurt asked solicitously, and just at that moment, as Jane glanced his way, Tasha drove her thumb against Jane’s clit so hard she nearly screamed.

 

She shut her eyes instinctively, blocking him out, blocking everything out, as the feeling rushed her. Even as she went under, consumed, she knew enough to be grateful she was sitting down. If she’d been standing, she might’ve collapsed. She could feel tears rush to her eyes and she bit down on her tongue to drive them back. 

 

She could hear voices talking, garbled, behind a low buzzing in her ear, but she couldn’t focus on the words. She could feel Tasha’s fingers slipping out, and then gently stoking the inside of her thighs, leaving slick trails on her skin. Painting her with her own sated desire. Tasha didn’t speak, but Jane could hear the message from all those weeks ago echoing once more: _Good girl_. The thought made her shudder, and she forced her eyes open, knowing she had to get away as soon as possible in order to collect herself. Tasha was somehow carrying on a conversation with Patterson and Reade, as if nothing out of the ordinary had just happened, but Jane knew they weren’t who she needed to be concerned about. She didn’t want to, but somehow she found herself turning towards him, looking at him, drawn as always by the guilt. And drawn anew by the degradation.

 

Could he see it in her face? Did he know what had just happened?

 

The thought sent another rush of heat through her. God, when had she become this depraved?

 

He was looking at her strangely, and she felt her breaths shorten— _caught, caught, caught,_ her mind blared—but then he met her eyes and mouthed, _You okay?_ and she nearly burst out laughing.

 

Instead, she shook her head, and as she did so, she felt a few of those hanging tears drop. One, two, three. Despite her shaky leges, she was out of her chair and down the hallway before the fourth could fall. She knew she couldn’t let him look at her long enough to figure it out.

 

As she was rushing away, the blood still pounding in her ears, she could hear him sigh wearily.

 

“What did I do now?” he wondered to those left at the table.

 

She yanked the bathroom door shut behind her and rushed to turn on the cold tap. She doused her face in water—too much, she could feel it running down her neck, ruining her blouse—and then cupped her hands and took a drink. She didn’t think she’d ever tasted better water. She rinsed her face again, checking the mirror now to see that some, not all, of the color had faded from her cheeks. She still looked wild-eyed when the door opened behind her.

 

She jumped, whirling around, but it was only Tasha. Jane stared at her for a moment, torn between wanting to hit her and wanting to kiss her. She ended up going with the latter—though she shoved Tasha up against the door hard enough to leave a bruise or two. The thought pleased her, after all Tasha had put her through tonight.

 

But Tasha was never one to be outdone: as Jane pressed her up against the door, Tasha responded by burying her hands in Jane’s hair and pulling, kissing her back as hard as she could. Jane could taste her own come in Tasha’s mouth, and the thought of Tasha sucking her fingers clean as she walked away from the table made her groan aloud.

 

“I’m paying you back for that,” Jane panted, once they’d finally broken apart. “I swear to God, I’ll get you for that.”

 

“Can’t wait.” Tasha merely grinned, reaching for the doorknob. “But first, let’s finish dinner.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You know what they say—reviews would be lovely! Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think!! :)


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